


it's the wrong time (but she's pulling me through)

by girl0nfire



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is Captain America, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, no really there is literally nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it’s always like this, an old familiar song; he comes home worse for the wear and she’s always there, ready to help him forget, or maybe to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the wrong time (but she's pulling me through)

There’s a clap of thunder outside, far enough away that there’s no threat left in it, a distant rumble across the darkened sky, settling beneath the steady rhythm of rain spattering against the bedroom’s windows.

Natasha’s sprawled in the center of their bed, limbs stretched gracefully into the lines of someone feigning sleep, and when James settles himself gently onto the edge of the mattress, peeling back the cowl and toeing off his boots, she breathes out a small, sleepy sigh. Tangling her legs in the sheets as she turns to him, she curls lazily around his back, wrapping a sleep-heavy arm around his waist and pressing her face into his side.

“How’d it go?”

He grunts a reply, stripping off red gloves and tossing them onto this nightstand. His weapons are already locked up downstairs, along with the shield; he unbuckles his utility belt quickly, lifting her arm gently to slip it from his waist before sending it to join the gloves in a small heap.

Shifting carefully away from her, almost unwillingly, James stands again, tugging off the stiff leather of the uniform’s shirt and hanging it carefully in the closet, where it’s joined quickly by the pants and boots, leaving him in only his underwear as he turns back toward the bed, eyeing the lithe silhouette of Natasha’s body in the dim slats of moonlight that peek through the blinds.

“’Doesn’t matter, now.”

Without another word, he lifts the sheets and slides beneath them, hands reaching for her before he’s even completely settled, fingers slipping appreciatively along the silken fabric of her nightgown as he pulls her flush against him, her back pressed against his chest.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, James rests his chin on Natasha’s pillow for a moment, inhaling the scent of her hair, and as they lay wrapped in the charged silence of the storm outside, he lets the tension of the day’s operations slowly begin to melt away, replaced with the soothing sensation of Natasha in his arms, the solid warmth of her skin against his.

Another distant roll of thunder, and Natasha presses closer, canting her hips back against his and reaching to twine their fingers together at her waist. And it’s always like this, an old familiar song; he comes home worse for the wear and she’s always there, ready to help him forget, or maybe to remember.

Without a word, James breathes against her hair a final time as he slips his hand from hers, pressing his right palm to the mattress until he’s hovering above her, taking her in. Her hair’s spread in crimson tangles over her pillow, her eyes dark and pale skin shining in the dimness of the room. She’s beautiful, he thinks, but more than that, she’s steady, solid, unquestioning as she meets his gaze with a soft smile, running her fingertips along his arm. James leans down to seek a kiss, but she meets him halfway, rising up like the incoming tide to capture his lips, looping her arms around his neck and dragging him closer, clever fingers slipping up his neck and into his hair.

James hums into the kiss, Natasha’s teeth sinking sharply into his lip before her tongue follows to soothe the momentary sting, breaching his lips and exploring his mouth, tracing along the points of his teeth before finally tangling with his own.

When she pulls away, Natasha’s breathing is already harsh, her eyes darker still, and James can’t help but lean down again and chase the rough breaths from her lips, tracing kisses across the corner of her mouth, her cheek, racing the thrum of her pulse down her neck to the dip of her shoulder, scraping the slightest sting of teeth along the sensitive skin there while his other hand slides beneath the sheets, trailing silver fingers along the smooth muscle of her thigh.

With a soft gasp, Natasha arches into his touch, pushing herself closer to him, and it’s all he’s ever asked for, to give her what she wants, so James looks up to press another soft kiss to her lips, almost teasing, before traveling downward again, dusting kisses along her collarbones, nuzzling her neck as his hand slips ever upward, slowly pushing the hem of her nightgown above her hips until the satin fabric is pooled around her waist.

Trailing open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, still covered by the thin lace top of the gown, James stops to drag the flat of his tongue over a nipple, rewarded with another short gasp and the tightening of her fingers in his hair. Biting down, gently, he laves at the sensitive spot through the fabric, drawing out choked sounds and small groans from Natasha, renewed when he travels slowly to her other breast and repeats himself, finding just the right spot to suck that makes her arch her back again, pressing their bodies closer together.

Waiting until she’s completely distracted, lost in the sparks of pleasure he’s drawing from her, James’ left hand traces a single, soft line down the delicate curve of her hip, metal fingers wrapping gently around the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. Another gasp, and her eyes open lazily, looking down on him in a haze of ragged breaths and just-bitten lips, and as James slides further down the bed, kicking the sheets out of the way and urging her knees apart so he can settle on his stomach between her thighs, he holds her darkened gaze until her eyes fall closed again, a sigh escaping her lips as he breathes a gust of warm air along the pale skin at her hip before pressing a kiss to curve of it.

With both hands free, now, James continues his careful exploration, tracing patterns along the soft skin of her thighs, teasing touches that begin too far away and end just short of where she would like them to be, and as Natasha’s hips begin to jerk, trying and failing to draw him closer, James lets the very tips of his fingers play at the crease of her thighs on his next pass. Another, and this time, the single tip of a finger dips into her folds, drawing a broken whine from her that echoes long after the touch is gone. A wicked grin unfurls on his face, one he knows is lost on her as her eyes stay squeezed shut, her features twisted into a look of anticipation that’s almost a grimace, and James can’t help himself, finished teasing and ready to make good on the promises his touches have been making.

Surging forward without warning, James runs the point of his tongue along Natasha’s slit, gathering the wetness there and spreading it across his lips, savoring the taste of her, the taste he’s never forgotten, burned into his memory across decades. Natasha’s hips jerk upwards again, and she catches her swollen bottom lip between her teeth to stifle a moan; James wraps silver fingers around her hip, thumb rubbing careful circles at the point of her hipbone, to steady her.

Wetting his lips, James leans into Natasha again, burying his tongue inside of her, licking gently at her center as he teases again, tracing broad strokes along her folds with the flat of his tongue, deliberately avoiding her clit as he sucks her, nibbling at tender flesh and drawing a steady rhythm of gasps from her, her fingers abandoning his hair to twist in the sheets.

Finally, knowing that he’s strung it out until it’s almost cruel, James drags the fingers of his right hand up the inside of Natasha’s leg, caressing her ankle and curving slowly upward, running his palm along her inner thigh until he reaches his destination, slipping a single finger inside her. 

Natasha lets out a strangled sound, half-scream, and despite his hold her hips buck up again, working desperately against his hand, and James takes the sign, leaning into her again and finally circling her clit with his tongue, steady movements as he draws his finger from her, thrusting in again with two. He takes up his rhythm, matching it to the cadence of his mouth, taking her apart slowly, knowing the best way to build it up for her, pulling her higher up and farther away as he seals his lips around her center, flicking his tongue against her and suckling, drawing another yelp from her as he picks up his pace.

Her hips roll into him, riding the movements of his hand, and James gives up any semblance of control, releasing his bruising grip on her hip and sliding silver fingers along the curve of her waist, seeking out her hand where it’s twisted in the sheets at her side and twining their fingers together again.

The pace of Natasha’s gasps quickens, and he can tell by the arch of her back, the frantic rhythm of her hips, that she’s close. Drawing his fingers out of her, James dips his head to swipe his tongue upward over her slit a last time before burying his fingers inside of her again, flicking his tongue against her clit before running over it with just the faintest scrape of teeth.

And that’s it, sending Natasha toppling over the edge, an earnest cry echoing from her lips as she pulses around his fingers, her release coating them as her whole body wracks with the force of her orgasm.

It’s only then that James realizes his own arousal is becoming insistent, his hips pressed roughly against the bed and rocking in time with the last pulses of her body, and as James withdraws his fingers carefully, drawing his tongue over her folds during the final aftershocks, he looks up at Natasha again.

Her face is relaxed, her eyes open but only just, her fingers white-knuckled where their hands are knotted together. Lifting himself up and releasing her hand, James draws himself above her again before settling between her legs, pressing his hips to hers, and he can feel the wetness left of her release soak through his underwear to coat his cock.

Bending down to kiss her again, almost frantically, James tangles silver fingers in crimson hair and rocks against her, pulling away to rest his forehead against hers as her breathing slows.

Even as a flush rides high along her cheekbones, Natasha’s eyes focus on him, glinting dangerously in the moonlight, and with a two-handed push she rolls them until James lies on his back, Natasha’s knees braced on either side of his hips. Trailing her fingers softly down his chest, Natasha traces the lines of old scars with sharp nails, leaning down to follow the paths of her fingers with her tongue, sliding along his body until she finally reaches the waistband of his underwear and dips her fingertips inside, sliding the fabric along James’ legs and shifting away to slip them off, hovering above him and watching his face.

With a smirk, a crooked eyebrow, Natasha holds his gaze as she wraps her fingers around his cock, stroking him just this side of too-slow, and leaning up again, she presses herself against his chest and catches his lips with hers.

Before James has noticed, dizzy with the sensations she's pulling from him, Natasha’s brought her knees to either side of his hips again, her hand stilling as she rises up and positions him at her entrance, sliding languidly downward, engulfing him, rocking her hips slowly as she takes him in. A sigh escapes her lips as she presses her hands against his stomach, steadying herself as her hips pick up a slow rhythm, shifting just enough that he can feel the velvet grip of her body with each stroke, not enough and overwhelming at once.

Bringing his hands up to cover hers, James lifts his hips, trying to get some leverage, but Natasha simply lifts a hand to his chest, pressing down gently and shaking her head with a coy grin, continuing her slow rocking, her hips coiling ever so slightly higher on each stroke until she’s built a faster pace, leaning forward, her hair spilling across her shoulders and hiding her face.

Reaching up, James brushes the crimson waves away, tucking his hand gently behind her neck and pulling her down into a searing kiss. Natasha finally relinquishes her control of their pace, leaning against him as James begins to thrust deeply into her, his other hand wrapping around her hip again to steady their movements as they crash together, the electric feeling of their bodies entwined sparking between the both of them. 

Natasha keens into his mouth, her body tightening around him, and her face falls into pensive lines as James speeds his hips ever faster, releasing her hip again to slip his hand between them, sliding lazy circles around her clit in time with his thrusts, and it’s moments, heartbeats, before she shatters for a second time, clenching hot around him and coming with another broken cry against his lips. James swallows her voice as he buries himself inside her on a final thrust, his fingers tangling in her hair as he follows, spilling within her and stroking her lazily through the last shudders of her body.

Another clap of thunder, closer this time, draws both of them back from the edge, their harsh breathing mingling in the small space between them, and when Natasha lifts her hips, shifting away to press against his side, James lets out a contented noise, half yawn and half sigh, as he wraps his arms around her and drops a kiss in her hair.

The rain continues its steady song, the incoming storm rattling along the windowpanes, but James lets the quiet rhythm of Natasha’s breaths lull him into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Damien Rice's "9 Crimes".


End file.
